Scars
by Foreverwolf
Summary: A Brotherhood AU: Tag to Iron Will. Caleb Reaves reflects on his friend, wondering how so many scars could mar the flesh without crushing the soul. Need to read Iron Will by Ridley C. James for this to make sense.


Scars

**A Brotherhood AU**

**Timeline: **Right after Iron Will

**Summary:** Tag to Iron Will. Caleb reflects on his friend, wondering how so many scars could mar the flesh without crushing the soul.

**AN:** Thank you so much to the wonderful **Ridley C. James** and **Tidia**, who created The Brotherhood verse. Many more thanks for letting others play in their playground. I only hope to do justice to the characters they and Erik Kripe have created. **Iron Will** can be found at **The Hunter's Tomb**, written by Ridley C. James.

Sorry, Ridley, I read that story and just couldn't help myself. I tried to stay as true to your characters, and their relationships, as possible.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. No money.

BR SPN BR SPN BR SPN BR SPN BR SPN BR SPN BR SPN BR SPN

"**Our heroes are people and people are flawed. Don't let that taint the thing you love." **

**Randy K. Milholland- Midnight Macabre**

"Sam!"

Caleb turned his face into his pillow, fighting every instinct he had that demanded he rush into his friends room, ready to do whatever it took to chase the nightmare away. As he had done, every night before, since that incident with the DOA a week ago.

He was exhausted. Dean's nightmares were never ending. Every time Caleb had managed to stop one, more came on it's heels. When John had discovered him camped out on a chair next to the still healing boy, he had put an end to it. One soldier out of the game was enough, he'd growled. Of course Caleb didn't give a shit about that, but their fight had woken Dean.

Two words had been his undoing.

"_Please, Damien."_

One look at the still too pale face, the pain in the depths of those jade eyes, and the silent plea Dean had sent out, knowing only he could hear it, and he had abandoned the fight, retreated.

Which is how he ended up here, listening to _another_ nightmare, feeling about as helpless as he had weeks ago when the boys were first reported missing. His head was pounding in tandem with his heart, determined to remind him of the horrors that were being relived over and over again in the next room.

"Fuck this," he growled, shoving himself up.

He didn't make it far. Johnny was standing outside Dean's bedroom, his arms crossed over his chest, his weary expression matching his own sense of helplessness. He knew the older man wouldn't really try to stop him from reaching Dean, but a part of him wanted the man's active participation in helping his son overcome his latest personal demons.

"Johnny, he needs help with this," Caleb tried, wishing John would give up the macho shit and just talk to his son. Father of the year he would never be, but damnit, the man loved his kids. He _knew_ that. Reaves just couldn't understand how he could stand by and watch.

"He needs to handle it on his own."

"Why? Because _you_ can't deal with the consequences of sending them in there? Or because _you_ need your soldier at the top of his game?" Caleb growled, the momentary sympathy being driven away by the typical Winchester stubbornness. Why couldn't John see what this was doing to Dean? "This isn't about _you!"_

These nightmares were vicious, leaving the younger man embarrassed and vulnerable- but by day, he was... Dean. Smart mouthed and strong. Because that was what they all needed him to be.

They needed to believe that spirit couldn't be broken, that a few hours in a sweat box couldn't shake iron foundations. All for their own selfish reasons. Most of it was to avoid the guilt that they all carried to varying degrees. Even Sam. They asked, and Dean, stalwart and loyal as ever, he gave without question, without hesitation. But his willingness to give didn't make the asking right.

"Deuce deserves better than this, from all of us. This wasn't some supernatural baddy. Human beings did this to him. He can't just lock it away in that little box in his head he keeps all this shit in. It'll eat him up inside if he does," Caleb continued.

"You think coddling him is going to help him? Then by all mean, go ahead, Private."

"Damn you, Johnny. This isn't about being macho. The kid almost died."

"Protecting others."

"You think that makes it okay? That it sets everything right?"

"That's his job! _Our_ job! It's not always fun and games. Evil is evil, no matter what shape it comes in. He has to learn that."

"You think he hasn't already learned that lesson? This isn't one of those teachable moments Jim loves so much. He doesn't need the Knight and a lecture about toughing it out. He needs his Father!"

"I know what's best for my family, Reaves!"

Caleb was spared acting on the impulse to strangle his mentor by a soft call from inside the room. He went in, but not without one last withering glare at the man he respected, admired, loved and hated all at once.

"Hey Deuce."

"How's a guy supposed to sleep with all that posturing going on?" Dean growled. "You especially don't have the testosterone to spare, Reava." He wasn't blind to the struggles between his best friend and father. It was a position they often found themselves in after a battle gone wrong. But he wouldn't let Caleb tear himself apart by trying to choose between his loyalties. As the next Knight, Caleb would need his father's teachings to keep himself and his future Triad alive. As far as Dean was concerned, Damien's responsibility was to learn as much as he could from the Ex Marine.

The fast retort faded from Reaves lips as Dean turned around to reach over for a glass of water on the bedside table, the healing crop marks on the younger man's back shifted and moved with the muscles underneath. The wounds were still that tender red, while the bruising was slowly changing to a myriad of colors. The stark white of the bandage covering the burn on his shoulder a vivid contrast to the wounded skin surrounding it.

Nineteen. Dean was just nineteen. But the scars that marred the flesh were only the beginning. What lay beneath that surface was far more dangerous. For the first time, he wondered about their destiny. Wondered if Dean, in his never ending quest to save them all, would ever see it. At just nineteen, Caleb hated that he questioned whether or not his friend would live to see twenty one.

As if sensing his pensive mood, Dean smirked. "Sulking? At your age? C'mon, Damien. Have a little dignity."

"Dean-"

Dean sighed, frustrated that his friend wouldn't pick up the banter, that he was determined to spring a "moment" on them. "Caleb, I'm getting a little pissed at everyone treating me with kid gloves. I'm not as fragile as everyone seems to think."

Caleb forced a smile, trying to dislodge his thoughts. "Maybe you're not, but we are."

"Dude, seriously? Is there _any _way to avoid this?"

"You could go back to sleep," Caleb offered wryly, knowing that having to relive that week in camp was wearing on his friend. He'd seen it all a hundred times over the past few nights. The parts about the danger Sam had been in were always twisted up, making it look like Dean had failed, and his younger brother had suffered through those punishments instead of himself.

"So, chick flick it is. What's on your mind?"

"Actually, I'm more worried about what's on yours."

"It's gonna take more than a few nightmares to keep me down. We won, Damien. No matter what happened to get us there, we won. Those kids are safe. Sammy's safe. The rest- it doesn't matter."

Reaves scowled, refraining from mentioning the scenes in Dean's dreams displayed a widely different point of view on the situation. "Now you sound like the Knight."

Dean shrugged, instantly regretting his insistence that he was well enough to be taken off the good pain killers. "He does the best he can. By all of us."

"That the speech you're gonna give Sam? 'Cause he's not doing so great with all this."

Dean snorted. "I've already talked to him. I know everyone here has already talked to him. This was his first experience with human evil- that he remembers, anyway. He just needs to find a way to apply some logic to it and he'll be fine."

They had been stuck at the motel for three days before Mac had pronounced Dean well enough to travel. Sam had been a silent shadow to his brother the entire time. No one could get more than basic answers from him. But once they'd reached the safety of the farm, where Mac had insisted on continuing Dean's convalescence, he had opened up a little. It hadn't been a cure all, but it was a start. Despite being told he'd done well, Sam had remained distant, determined to believe his brother's near death had been his fault.

For himself, Caleb felt the blame rested solely on the Knight's doorstep. However, expressing that particular sentiment to his friend would only cause a rift neither could afford.

Caleb chuckled. "Tiny Einstein put together a hell of a coup."

"That he did. Think we should be worried next round of prank wars?"

"Nah. He might have the brains, but he lacks the experience."

"Guess our titles as reigning champions are safe for now."

Silence stretched between them. The brief moment of levity had been a welcomed reprieve, but nothing had been settled. Dean, as self sacrificing as ever, was the one to end the standoff. He knew his friend well enough to know what was bothering him, knew that Caleb needed it out in the open.

"Look, Damien, you can't hold onto this shit. You did the right thing by walking away."

"You still feel that away after almost dying- _again_, I might add- in that bread box?" Reaves growled. "We both know that if it had been you there, and Sammy trapped, you wouldn't have done it."

"And I would have been wrong."

"You would have gotten Sam out of there."

"Maybe. Or maybe I would have died trying. I don't know. But I _do_ know that wouldn't have helped those kids. And those bastards would have gone free. I'm a lot of things, Damien, but the bigger picture has never been my forte. Trust me, I'm more grateful than I can say that you had the strength to walk away."

Caleb crushed down his instinct to retaliate. He wished Deuce would give himself just half as much credit as he gave everyone else. But that argument was one he had learned long ago he'd never win. That, too, he was willing to lay at the Knights feet.

"I didn't come in here so _you_ could make _me_ feel better, Deuce."

"You wanted to sing me sleep? Thanks but no thanks. I've got enough nightmares."

"You gonna give those up any time soon?" Caleb threw out casually.

"Sam's not the only one who needs to work things out in his own head. I screwed up, Damien. And it wasn't just Sammy that almost got hurt because of it."

"You did the best you could in a bad situation."

"Good. Now that we've exchanged pointless platitudes that neither of us is going to listen to, can we maybe call it a night?"

Caleb chuckled, realizing that going around in circles wasn't going to make either one of them feel better. "Yeah. But try and cut back on the playbacks. I can't exactly just turn off the Winchester hotline. Not when you're projecting so loudly."

Dean smirked. "One Tyra Banks special coming up."

Caleb returned to his own room, flopping down on his bed. Dean was right. Nothing had been settled- for either of them. But maybe that wasn't the point. They had all failed on this mission, in one way or another. It was easy to point fingers, lay blame at someone's feet, turn on each other.

But the truth was, there was nothing supernatural about what had happened. Despite their close calls over the years, it was too easy to forget that there were other sources of evil in the world.

They all had scars, some more visible than others. And sooner or later he was going to have to accept that he couldn't always be there to prevent them from happening. That the days when 'Super Caleb' could swing in and fix everything were gone.

His adopted brothers were growing into men- into their own destinies. Sometimes, it felt like they were leaving him behind. Other times he felt like he had to slow down, let them catch up.

But for the most part, he felt priviledged to serve with them. With the men downstairs in the kitchen who were trying to pretend this latest threat hadn't affected them, too. Sweet tea and pie bringing them together, to strengthen their bond, affirm their loyalty to each other.

A part of him wanted to run down there and demand that they take responsibility for this latest affront. That John step up and _be_ the father the boys so desperately needed, that he admit he didn't exactly have his priorities straight. And damnit, the Knight needed to remember that Caleb was a card carrying Hunter now, not still some teen idolizing an awe inspiring image of a man.

He wanted Jim to fix them all, make everything all right, make Johnny do the right thing. At the same time, the Guardian needed to stop trying to protect them from the dangerous situations that came with the heavy silver bands on their fingers, to treat them like the grown men they had become.

He wanted Mac, his father, to wave a magic wand and make all of Deuce's scars- visible or not- disappear. To also demand respect as a Hunter from the Scholar.

Hell, a part of him even wanted Bobby to remind them that no matter what they went through or experienced in life, they didn't necessarily have to grow up.

He believed in the Brotherhood with everything he had. He'd always believed them to be heroes as great as D'Artangnan, as the Dragons that protected the Prince. As much as a reality as it was, there had always been that edge of fantasy, of mysticism about it. He didn't want to lose that.

But maybe it was time he accepted that every hero was, in the end, merely human.


End file.
